


mad jazzed for stridercest

by Cerberusia



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2018-10-10 17:12:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 7,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10442940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerberusia/pseuds/Cerberusia
Summary: Sometimes, people post spam in the stridercest tag. I take these posts as fic prompts.





	1. Dirk/Dave

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter will contain in the notes a link to the original fic post on my Tumblr, which is a reblog of the prompt post. Some of these blogs do have an inconvenient habit of deleting, and it would be such a shame if the reader were left without reference to the original prompt!
> 
> FIrst one: http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/157458571447/there-was-a-pause-neither-of-them-made-for-the

There was a pause. Neither of them made for the door.

“But, y'know,” said Dave, “there’s incest and there’s incest.” He stared past Dirk’s head at the plain white wall of his bedroom. There was a deep scar in the paint - a shuriken, probably.

Dirk didn’t say anything, just ran his tongue over his top lip. Dave watched it. Yep, he still wanted to kiss those thin pink lips.

“I’m just saying,” Dave continued, “sure, you’re my bro, we’re bros, apparently you’re my genetic father - which is still really weird, bee-tee-dubs - but we’ve established you’re not my Bro. We’ve known each other for like, a week.”

“Uh-huh.” Dirk shifted his weight onto his other leg. To Dave, his Bro had always been completely inscrutable: he’d spent years working out tiny tells to indicate Bro’s moods, and his thoughts had never been less than opaque. But Dirk hadn’t had the same length of time to hone his poker face, and when he shifted like that and didn’t just up and leave the room, Dave knew he was interested.

Dave took a step towards him - casual, very casual, just a shuffle of feet. Dirk had told him already that he’d hardly done anything, just a few makeout sessions and a lot of frustrated boners. Dave hadn’t got much further, and had told him so. That was when he’d hit on a way to solve that.

“I can’t, like, force you, dude.” Dave shrugged. “But it can’t be worse than kissing a severed head, right?”

(They do, in fact, end up making out.)


	2. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/158023478072/ecksdees-what-the-fuck-bro-bro-who-was

“What the _fuck_ , Bro.”

Bro, who was critically examining the abomination from all angles, shrugged. He took several steps back and stroked his chin thoughtfully.

“No, really. What the fuck _is_ that? Did you buy it?” Dave noticed the bottles and containers on the computer desk, and an even more horrifying thought occurred to him. “Did you _make_ it?”

“Sure did.” Bro wasn’t as hard to read these days, after the Game, and Dave was pretty sure he was pleased. “Special request on PlushRump.” Yeah, definitely pleased with himself. Well, it was an example of technical mastery, even if it was also the ugliest, most nightmare-inducing goddamn thing Dave had seen in the last month.

“Uh-huh.” Dave sidled towards the kitchen, unable to tear his eyes away from it. He’d just wanted some apple juice, and now he was going to have to try and sleep tonight with this in the apartment?

One of Bro’s long arms flashed out and caught him before he could leave. Dave let Bro reel him in tight to his side. He was warm through his clothes and smelt a bit like Old Spice and a bit like spray paint.

“You know how much this guy is paying for his specific pumpkin-headed puppet pornography?” Bro asked him.

Dave shook his head. That was some skilled work, though, so he was guessing it would cover the skateboard he’d been looking at lately.

Bro told him.

“Holy _shit_.” That would definitely cover the skateboard. That would cover three goddamn skateboards.

“Yeah.” Bro gave him an affectionate squeeze. His hand dropped to Dave’s hip. “So, wanna do something special?” Now that _was_ serious: they both knew that if Bro said that, he was offering a date. A proper date. Something that might require him to wear something other than his usual outfit. From Bro, there really was no higher proof of love.

Dave turned to kiss the corner of Bro’s mouth, and felt the tiny smile there. “Yeah, let’s do that. Let’s make it happen.”


	3. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/158603561282/doesdavestridersupportincest-try-again-smartass

“Ambrose?”

“Try again, smartass.”

“Broderick?” Dave turned his head ninety degrees and squinted. From this angle, Bro did kind of look like a Broderick.

“Not seeing what’s wrong with ‘Bro’.” Bro continued gluing the googly eyes onto a smuppet whose proboscis looked particularly…bulbous. His big hands wielded the tweezers with confident delicacy.

“Nothing’s _wrong_ with it, but I kinda need to know what’s on the official forms if I’m gonna fill out _my_ official forms.” Dave watched him put the smuppet carefully to one side of the kitchen table for the glue to dry. “C'mon, Bro, it’s not a state secret.”

“Uh-huh.” Bro appeared completely unmoved, resting his elbows on his knees, blank-faced. Dave squirmed into a sitting position on the edge of the futon to see him properly. Yeah, that was his 'neutral’ face, designed to give away nothing. But when you lived with someone for thirteen years, then played a crazy game for three, then met that someone’s younger doppelgänger, then were suddenly plopped right in the middle of a new world in which that someone had been mysteriously resurrected, you learned some things about them. And what Dave knew was that that expression on Bro’s face was not 'I am unimpressed’: it was 'Convince me’.

Dave swung himself upright, took a couple of steps forward, and neatly dropped himself into Bro’s lap.

Bro’s hands immediately went to his waist to steady him. If you’d asked Dave a few years ago what he would have expected to happen, he would have said that Bro would have stood up and let him slide to the floor. It was weird to think of how much he didn’t know back then, couldn’t have realised. It seemed so obvious in retrospect.

“C'mon, Bro,” he said, putting his arms around Bro’s neck and staring at him beseechingly. “You cut a meteor in half for me - no way your real name is such a big deal.”

Bro stared back at him. He wasn’t affected by the guilt-trip - Dave could never make that one work, didn’t even try - but having Dave in his lap always made him more amenable. The trouble was whether Dave could hold out long enough before he got distracted by sitting on his hot guardian’s lap and started feeling him up.

Dave leaned in and put his mouth against Bro’s ear. He smelt like aftershave and sweat, a smell that invariably made Dave think of sex: the sex they’d already had, and the sex they could be having right now. Bro hadn’t shaved that morning, and fine golden stubble scratched his cheek.

“No more stupid secrets, right?” That was what they’d agreed. No more secrets to keep up the mystique, no more secrets to try and seem cool: they were a goddamn team, they were goddamn brothers, and if Bro wouldn’t share some basic personal details - like, just about anything of his life before he found Dave - then Dave would leave. He wasn’t gonna live with - wasn’t gonna fuck - someone who didn’t think it was worth telling him shit like that.

He felt more than heard Bro’s “Yeah”, the vibration of his larynx. Bro had a nice voice, low and kind of rumbly. It made Dave wish he’d talk more. They could work on that.

“Yeah,” said Bro. “Yeah, OK.” And he cupped his hand tenderly around Dave’s ear and told him.


	4. Dirk/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/158644744052/doesdavestridersupportincest-nope-shit-your

“Shit!” Your skateboarder tries for a sick triple kickflip, only to faceplant into a rail so hard that if this game was rated any higher his head would explode like a watermelon. You can feel the tiny vibration of Dirk’s arm pressed against yours: he’s laughing, just a tiny bit. His skater performs a grind, then executes the same move you just tried - without bailing in the middle.

“Yeah, yuk it up,” you say, throwing your controller under the coffee table. “Just you wait: this is all part of my cunning plan, bro.”

“Uh-huh.” Dirk’s eyebrows have a smug tilt as he manoeuvres his skater through a narrow passage. It would be stupid to get hung up on how Dirk resembles Bro - of course he does, they have exactly the same DNA - but sometimes he makes these microexpressions that make him really look like Bro. Bro’s eyebrows - the same thick eyebrows he passed on to you but mysteriously not to Rose, thanks genetics - are right there, on Dirk.

This is where you’d usually start trash-talking, trying to break his concentration and make his skater crash to a gory death. Instead, you lean so your cheek is barely an inch from his. You don’t quite let your face touch his: just get so close that you can feel the heat coming off his skin. Down has begun to thicken on your cheeks over the past few months, and you swear you can feel it stand up.

Dirk continues playing. His wrists and shoulders are loose - gotta be loose, gotta be cool - but there’s tension in the middle of his back. He doesn’t tell you to stop it.

“I’m trying to psych you out,” you confess after maybe half a minute of this posture. It’s slightly uncomfortable, but also kind of nice. He smells like hair-gel and toothpaste. It makes your stomach flip over. You ignore it.

“No, really?” His skater does another triple kickflip. How is he so good at this game? “Sorry, bro, gotta try harder than that.”

For one crazy moment, you think of turning his head and kissing Dirk’s cheek. It would be smooth and soft and cool beneath your lips. Would you feel the freckles?

Unconsciously, you lick your dry lips. They’re the one feature you didn’t inherit from Bro: where Dirk’s mouth is thin and wide, yours is full.

Dirk’s skater bails a - shit, you didn’t even see what he was going for there. Whatever it was, it ends with him going splat three storeys below. Nasty; or it would be if this fucking game gave you any gore at all instead of sad ragdoll flopping.

The score comes up. Predictably, Dirk’s is a lot better than yours. He says - something insulting, deadpan, you don’t know because your ears are buzzing. You have to lean away and crawl halfway under the table to find your controller and give yourself time for the sudden flaming heat to leech out of your face. Your cheek is tingling.


	5. Dirk/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/158866895472/doesdavestridersupportincest-dave-strider

TT: Dave, I hate to pull you out of your no doubt comfortable bed of denial, but in my role as the sensible sibling and amateur psychoanalyst I have to point out that this sounds very...specific.  
TT: I also have to ask about your curious juxtaposition of 'dating' and 'respecting'.  
TT: Do you really mean to imply that there is a dichotomy there?  
TG: no  
TG: shit rose  
TG: im just saying  
TG: dirks my bro and i respect him  
TG: and  
TG: i will never  
TG: under no circumstances  
TG: date him  
TT: I see.  
TG: god damn rose dont give me that  
TT: I would never wish to upset you, ectobrother dearest.  
TT: I just note that in your refusal to enter into a romantic relationship with Dirk, you did not say that this was because you have no romantic interest in him.  
TT: You instead said that he was your 'bro' and that you 'respect' him.  
TG: its the truth  
TG: gods own weapons grade  
TG: youve seen him strife  
TG: i get to see him practice every day and im telling you  
TG: its every bit as badass up close  
TT: Are you saying that you watch your brother practice with his sword daily?  
TG: yeah he gets up at the asscrack of dawn  
TG: so we go up to the roof and he practices and i take sick shots of the sunrise over houston  
TG: id take some of him but  
TG: hes way too fast  
TG: dont think he likes cameras tbh  
TT: Yes, I have noticed that too.  
TT: I might speculate that it comes from an isolated childhood and discomfort with being watched rather than the watcher.  
TT: I might also suggest that our ectofather has the same weakness as his iteration in our original universe: vanity.  
TG: yeah maybe  
TG: his hair stuff is crowding out my toiletries on the bathroom shelf  
TG: theyre being forced further and further into one corner  
TG: theyre gonna have to form a plucky band of rebels and start a revolution  
TT: Best of luck to them.  
TT: I can report that Roxy has a similar vice, but luckily I had the foresight to secure us separate bathrooms.  
TT: But back to the topic at hand.  
TG: ughhhhh rose do you gotta  
TT: Yes.  
TT: You get up at a time of day that you find distastefully early to watch your brother practice his swordwork, shirtless, as the two of you enjoy the romantic Houston sunrise.  
TG: how did you know he doesnt wear a shirt  
TG: uh  
TT: I have my ways.  
TG: and like shit the houston sunrise is romantic  
TG: you ever been to houston  
TG: nothing about houston is romantic  
TT: And yet the photographs of it posted to your Instagram account suggest a langorous, romantic, yearning attitude.  
TT: It's very good photography, but perhaps rather more personally revealing than you meant.  
TT: Also, one of the photographs reveals Dirk's discarded shirt on the roof.  
TG: bull fucking shit  
TG: theres no way you can tell that much from a photo  
TG: langorous and yearning my ass  
TT: Really, Dave.  
TT: If you really believed that, you wouldn't be nearly as interested in photography as you are.  
TT: I'd have believed that from you at thirteen, but not now.  
TG: shit  
TG: rose please  
TT: There's no need to panic.  
TT: I'm not insisting that you declare yourself to him this instant.  
TT: I'm just suggesting that you have nothing to lose by being honest with yourself.  
TG: shit  
TG: i cant  
TG: i  
TG: shit  
TG: fuck

\-- turntechGodhead is now an idle chum! --


	6. Alpha!Dave/Dirk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/162058940882/passive-aggressive-fandom-hey-guess-what-incest

"The Pharoahs didn't think so."

"The Pharoahs had loads of concubines to keep the gene pool from completely collapsing, and Tutankhamum still had a cleft palate and scoliosis."

"Not that that's anything we have to care about, thank God." You stay very still where you're perched on Dave's lap. Your arms are wrapped tight around his neck and your calves are wrapped around his. If he wants to dislodge you, he's going to have to work for it. "Unless there's something you want to tell me...?"

"Ha-ha." Dave's shades reflect only your own face. His hands rest casually on the sofa, and his body is relaxed beneath yours. His hard-on is between you, unavoidable even though you're both careful not to look at it. You know that at the first sign of weakness, he'll break your grip and be gone. No-one can avoid the issue as well as your brother.

"But neither of us really cares about the Pharoahs, right?" You let a little more of your weight sink onto Dave's thighs.

"I care. Man, do I care about the Pharoahs. You'll never find a man, woman or alien who gives more of a shit about the Twenty-Second Dynasty-" You lean in to cut off the rambling, deadpan recitation. This works, because he can't spew bullshit and avoid your kiss at the same time, and ends up mumbling something about Akhenaten into your mouth.

He rears back. You follow, dropping all your weight on him and creasing his sharp suit. He's trapped by the back of the sofa. He turns his head to the side, but you only press hot, damp kisses to his sharp cheekbone and jaw as you work your way to his thin-lipped mouth.

He won't open his mouth at first: it's like kissing a statue. Luckily, you find the idea of fucking statues impossibly sexy, so his cold fish act doesn't put you off. He's keeping his breathing steady and even, but you can feel his heartbeat pounding in his chest and the press of his hard dick against your thigh. That was what started this, after all.

You kiss his bottom lip, then the upper. You suck at his lips, bite them a little. You feel him swallow.

"It's wrong," you whisper in his ear. "It's _dirty_. You're _dirty_ for liking it."

Dave makes a noise in the back of his throat. Then grabs your jaw and pulls you into a proper kiss, wet and tongue-filled. You respond eagerly, rolling your hips against his.

"Tell me it's bad," he mutters in your ear when he sucks a bruise into your throat. "I-"

"It's bad," you promise, your head thrown back. "I-it's _disgusting_ to want to f-fuck your brother."

Dave groans and buries his face in your shoulder, gnawing frantically at your chest. He's always had a massive incest kink - and you know just how to play on it.


	7. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/163766469832/imhatebrostrider-hey-if-you-ship-stridercest-uhh

I didn't ask Bro what it had been like, being dead. The way he told it, he'd died there on the Beat Mesa impaled on his own sword, and the next thing he knew he was waking up on New Earth. I didn't know if that was really true or not, but you could never force things out of Bro: prying just made him clam up. I knew all about wanting privacy for your nightmares. If there was anything to tell, he'd tell me in his own time.

Bro had come back different. Mom had too, according to Rose's stories of what she was like before, though Dad and Bec were pretty much the same. He didn't dress different, he didn't talk different, but he _was_ different.

He came stumbling out of a forest on Earth 2, still wearing the polo shirt he'd died in; I knew because he hadn't sewn up the gash the sword had made in it. His hat was askew, and his face wasn't set like it normally was. I don't think anybody else could have told the difference, but I could.

I was the last to find my Guardian resurrected. Behind me, Mom shouted his name. But he didn't look at her: he just looked at me. I went forwards, towards him, so fast it was like I was flying. I didn't know what I was going to do when I got to him.

He hugged me. He hadn't hugged me since - I didn't remember when he'd last hugged me. Some time when I was small. But his arms wrapped around me and he buried his pointy nose in my shoulder - my shoulder, not my head; I was nearly the same height as him now - and nearly lifted me off the ground. I clutched at him, fisted my hands in his shirt, feeling the strong muscles in his back contract and flex as he squeezed me tight. He shuddered a little, and I realised he was crying.

That was when I discovered he'd loved me all along.

He didn't magically turn into a normal, communicative guy: he's still an irony-obsessed weirdo with complicated feelings about puppets that he expresses via the surprisingly lucrative medium of puppet pornography. But Lil Cal is gone for good, there's always food in the house, and we strife only when I say. We won the Game: training has ended.

And when I want a hug, he gives me one. It doesn't matter what he's doing, where he's going: if I want a tender embrace from his powerful arms, I get one. Bro always hugs like he's afraid he won't get another chance.

I get kisses, too, though only if I give him one first. Little kisses on the forehead or cheek, making up for the ones he didn't give me as a child; longer kisses on the mouth, gentle and slow, like the lovers in old movies. It's not like kissing anyone else. Kissing other people was good, even fun; but until I kissed Bro I didn't realise how good it could be, how perfect, with someone who knows you as well as you know yourself.

"Show how much you love me," I said the first time, pressing kisses to his pale, freckled face. The point of his cheekbone, the shell of his ear, the arch of his uneven eyebrow where a blade-scar bisects it. And he did. He's only said it out loud once, crushed under me in our bed, gasped into a pillow - but our bodies say it perfectly every time.


	8. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/163793107762/pee-your-pants-sweaty
> 
> An ask, this time! Apparently prompted by the last ficlet, so I assume it was Stridercest omo they were after...

"Bro, _let me up off the couch._ "

Bro just looked at him, poker-faced. Dave could see his own distorted reflection in in Bro's shades: face scrunched up, teeth gnawing a hole in his bottom lip. He could feel sweat beading at his hairline. The bathroom was _right_ there, and Bro had come and sat on Dave's legs so he couldn't goddamn _get_ to it.

"Broooooo," he whined, jamming a hand into his crotch. He wasn't going to crack and say _'I really need to pee'_ , but he couldn't pretend he didn't. Bro knew anyway. Holy shit, he was desperate. He squirmed on the couch, unable to pull his legs out from beneath Bro's ass. His bladder felt heavy and full, and he had to keep squeezing his dick and pressing his thighs together to try and stave off the urge to pee.

"Bro, if you don't let me up, I'm gonna piss on the couch," he warned, hunching over with both hands wrapped tight around his dick. "Seriously, let me up!" He could feel the pee pushing at the bottom of his dick. Shit, this was bad. Thr urge to pee was almost overwhelming. He could feel his control slipping. He was going to -

"Shit!" A spurt of pee came out. He was leaking - he was going to wet himself right here on this couch -

He was hauled up by the arms, hands torn away from their death-grip on his dick through his jeans. Bro held his arms tight behind his back and forced his legs apart. Holy shit, that was Bro's boner pressing between his ass-cheeks, why - but he couldn't think about that because he really was wetting himself, pee soaking the crotch of his jeans and running down his inner thighs. He heard it spatter on the carpet, and closed his eyes in humiliation.


	9. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/164111981077/anyways-if-u-ship-stridercest

"Die, die, die!" you chant under your breath as Toad pulls ahead and fires a shell, forcing Princess Peach to swerve or get blasted. On the futon behind you, Bro says nothing. Toad powerslides around a corner and gains more ground. Holy shit, you might actually win this one.

You powerslide around another corner, missing a star. Behind you, Peach fires a shell, then another shell - and grabs the powerup while Toad is still spinning in circles. Peach pulls into the lead, and the rest is history. You blue-shell her to shit, but she's ahead, she's getting the powerups, and you're left eating her dust. Story of you and Bro, really.

"Not again!" You drop your controller and glare at the TV screen where Toad is receiving second place and looking pleased about it, the traitorous little fucker. It's hot as Satan's asshole outside so you're stuck in here with the air conditioning and Bro, and out of five rounds of Mario Kart so far, you've won a grand total of _one_. You don't need to turn round to know that Bro is radiating smugness like a range cooker.

"I've been playing Mario Kart since before you were born, dude." You hear the soft thump as he tosses his controller aside. You roll onto your back and stare into his eyes through two layers of polarised glass.

"Bro, it only came out in ninety-seven." You wriggle your toes, contemplating putting them in Bro's lap. Normally you'd do it and have him warm up your feet with his huge hands, but literally the only thing making life worth living right now is the air conditioning. You unstick your feet from the floor and move them to another, cooler section.

Bro just shrugs, impassive.

"Up." In case it's not clear, Bro holds out his arms.

"Ugh," you grumble, getting slowly to your knees. "I love you, Bro, but I don't wanna share body heat with you til November." You're going to anyway: if Bro is asking for a hug, he's gonna get one. He's going to get the mother of all hugs. All other tender embraces will pale before it. Temple Grandin's hug-machine will explode in envy.

You crawl up onto the sofa and flop half-heartedly on his chest, groaning pathetically into his shoulder. It's too hot to do anything.

His big hand comes up and strokes your hair. It's heavy, like a lion's paw. You like it anyway. You close your eyes and turn your head blindly to press a tiny kiss into his neck, to the soft skin before the stubble starts.

Above you, the air conditioning whirrs and clunks. Cicadas buzz outside the window. You're hot and sticky and so is Bro, but for a moment it's bearable, just to stay in his embrace.


	10. Alpha!Dave/Dirk

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/164229444482/imhatebrostrider-shipping-incest-is-bad
> 
> Goodness gracious, we're having quite the influx! Of course, this simply means more fic is produced...

"So, basically, you're telling me you want to be called a bad boy." One of Dave's pale eyebrows arches above the rim of his shades.

"The phrase 'bad boy' being used as a placeholder, I hope, and not uttered during the actual fucking." Your dedication to terrible porno dialogue only goes so far.

Dave waves his hand and settles himself more comfortably on the couch. He's wearing his red suit today, which you like because it somehow produces the illusion that he has an ass. Truly, the greatest example that love is blind: that you, connoisseur of the plushest rumps in two universes, should have fallen deeply and embarrassingly in love with a man who's not only your older brother and genetic son, but also tragically ass-less.

"Sure, talk about how dirty brother-fucking is and what a dirty pervert you are for liking it. Right?"

"Right." You keep staring him right in the shades, even though you know he can't see your eyes. "I realise that erotic degradation is pretty much your anti-kink, but I'll be honest with you: I find the idea so sexually exciting that I'm trying not to pop a boner right now." You know he likes your clinical, matter-of-fact version of dirty talk. This is good, because if you try to be sexy deliberately, you come off about as sexually enticing as a duck with one foot.

"Sure," Dave agrees. "Not my thing at all." You both know that his number-one turn-on is being praised and called a good boy. It's closely followed by being seduced, slowly undressed, and tenderly made love to. But you're an inventive guy with an encyclopedic knowledge of sexual theory, and you're pretty sure you can find some way to make your differing sexual interests compatible.

You step forward. Dave goes very still. You bend so your cheeks are almost touching and you can feel the phantom touch of stubble. You say in his ear, quietly and with plenty of growl,

"Tell me I'm _dirty_...Bro."


	11. Dirk/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/164245658887/incest-destroyers-incest-bad-so-incest-huh

"So, incest, huh." Your ceiling fan is broken. You should probably get Dirk to fix it.

"Is it still incest if balls don't touch?" Your voice is slightly muffled by Dirk's hair. Wow, that's...a lot of hairgel, huh.

"Yes, Dave. It's still incest." Dirk's deadpan is less withering after orgasm. "Though if you want to justify your totally familial desire to nail Roxy, be it far from me to stop you."

"Unkind and untrue," you protest. "I don't wanna nail Roxy. I just wanna stick my face in her pillowy boobs and maybe have her stroke my hair a bit, you know?"

"Oddly enough, breasts don't hold quite the same bodalicious fascination for me as they do for you." Back to normal levels of sarcastic effectiveness. That was quick. Maybe next time you should try to tire him out more.

"It's all because I wasn't breastfed as a child," you say solemnly. It's only because Dirk's lying on top of you that you catch the little ripple as he sniggers silently. Aw yeah, sweet success. You wrap your noodly arms around him and turn your head to kiss his temple - which conveniently gets his hair out of the way of your nose. You're sure human beings shouldn't inhale that much hairgel at once.

"And, bro, our balls definitely touched." Dirk gets more comfortable on top of you, miraculously not jabbing you in any sensitive places with his pointy elbows. "I was there. I remember. There was ball-touching."

"I was there too, and I'm not so sure." This is a lie, but a lie in the service of a greater cause. Namely: inviting Dirk to come and rub off on you again. "Wanna make sure they touch next time? Just so we're absolutely sure it's incest?" You punctuate this with an eyebrow-waggle that Dirk can't actually see.

You feel the tiny curve of Dirk's lips against your neck before he says, dryly,

"It's a date."


	12. Dirk/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/164399754022/damzcourse-hey-if-yall-aint-in-this-tag-for

"Hurry _up_ , Dirk." I gripped the edge of the counter so hard my knuckles turned white.

"You want me to make even more of a mess?" Dirk held the antisceptic-swabbed pliers to the tender arch of my foot and slowly, carefully, started pulling out the nail. Pain flared up my leg.

" _Shit_ ," I whispered, and blinked away tears. I was not going to cry over a nail. I'd never cried after Bro beat me in a strife, and that had hurt plenty. Well, not in front of him, at least. I stared fixedly at the top of Dirk's head instead. Man, he should really stop using so much gel.

"Here we go." Dirk's warm hand squeezed my calf and his thighs tightened on my heel to keep it still - and then with a tiny jerk, the nail was free.

"Holy _shit_ ," I exploded. It still hurt like a nakkodile bite. Dirk, impassive as ever, just reached up and placed the nail next to me on a piece of toilet paper.

"Quarter of an inch at most, bro," he said placidly. "Now sit tight while I disinfect and bandage this baby."

I gave the nail a baleful look. It was bent at a 150 degree angle and was shiny with my blood. Quarter of an inch, my _ass_.

If I'd thought the extraction hurt, the antisceptic was worse. Bro had poured so much TCP on me (and the toilet lid I was sitting on) over the years that we should have had shares in the company, but I never got used to the white searing pain.

"Good thing you've already got your tetanus shots." Dirk squeezed my calf again, put the cap back on the bottle, and picked up the dressing. The worst was over. I watched the little bits of his face I could see from above: the way his eyelashes fluttered, the brief wrinkling of his nose.

He smoothed over the dressing, then paused. I wriggled my toes in his lap, impatient.

He leaned forward, then hesitated. I saw his tongue come out to wet his lips. I stayed very still.

Then he leaned in and put his mouth to the side of my knee, in the little hollow behind the kneecap. His eyes closed. He put a little kiss there, in that small, vulnerable place.

"All ship-shape and Bristol fashion," he said when he pulled back, flat as ever. But when he carefully placed my foot on the floor and stood up, I saw the tips of his ears were red. "Now, can you hobble, hop or crawl out of here under your own power, or do you need me to carry you?"

In one of those rare moments of total sibling synchronisation, I knew exactly which option he wanted me to pick. I held out my arms.

"Oh, my prince in shining pyjamas should _definitely_ come and carry me to bed."


	13. Dirk/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/164518626692/dirk-my-bro-these-dank-memes-would-be-a-lot

"Dirk, my bro, these dank memes would be a lot more dank if I actually played Minecraft." You unstick the print-outs from your bedroom wall. At least Dirk uses tack instead of shuriken.

"Incorrect." Dirk appears in the doorway. He must have been lurking in the hallway like a creep. "These memes are totally dank, irrespective of your knowledge of Minecraft, which makes you unable to properly appreciate their dankness."

"Sure, bro. Dankest Minecraft memes, right here." You fold them and dump the wad of paper into the circular file. "Haven't you got Sailor Moon's castle to be building, or something?"

"At the moment, we're creating a replica of Equestria," Dirk says smugly, leaning against the doorframe. "Arquiusprite has some pretty interesting ideas about what kind of art cartoon ponies might have up on their walls."

"Uh-huh." Your imagination provides some uncomfortably vivid possible 'ideas'. "And how is milk weirdo, anyway?"

"Do you want to see his latest artwork?"

"NO. Sweet crispy Jesus, no." You make a sign to ward off evil. "No, dude. I want to sleep tonight."

"Your loss." Dirk pulls down his shades to look over the top of them. It's cheesy, but it works on you every time. "And I'm not talking about Arquiusprite's latest masterpiece."

You look him straight in his burning orange eyes, then sit down in your computer chair. You deliberately let your knees fall wide apart.

"Make me a better offer, then."


	14. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/164520412387/incest-destroyers-no-no-bros-hands-rest-on

"No." Bro's hands rest on your hips. His face is completely flat. He might as well have turned to stone. You settle yourself more comfortably in his lap.

"Final offer, Bro." You hook your arms tighter around his neck so he can't flash-step to freedom. "C'mon, I've taken off mine." It's nice: the light coming in through the big balcony windows make Bro's sewing supplies look artfully scattered across the coffee table instead of just messy. "I can wait."

You wait. Because you're not wearing your shades, you can see his eyes even through the polarised glass of his. They're the only part of him that moves, flickering down and to the side. He's got so used to you not being able to see his eyes that he's forgotten to control them. You're not going to mention it to him.

Apart from his eyes, Bro's expression doesn't change; but after - seconds, minutes, hours - he lets go of you and reaches up to his shades. Slowly, delicately, he grips them by the edge and takes them off.

He looks like - well, he looks like an older version of Dirk. What did you expect? Freckled, fair skin, hawk-amber eyes. Pointy convex nose, high cheekbones tapering to a narrow jaw. Invisible eyelashes, thin lips.

And, by the corners of his eyes, the faintest touch of crows' feet. How old is Bro now? Mid-thirties? He's always seemed ancient to you, of course, but that seems young to be developing his first wrinkles. Will you start seeing grey in his hair soon?

"Satisfied?" Bro's tone barely lifts at the end to make it a question. You know he must hate the exposure, the vulnerability; but you love that he's willing to do it for you. You both know that out of all the things he owes you, the greatest is honesty.

"Almost." And when you lean in to kiss his thin lips, his warm hands come to rest on your back, supporting you.


	15. Dirk/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/166790376597/%E8%8B%A5%E3%81%84%E7%94%B7%E3%81%8C%E5%AF%9D%E5%AE%A4%E3%81%AB%E7%AB%8B%E3%81%A4%E4%BB%8A%E6%97%A5%E3%81%AF2009%E5%B9%B44%E6%9C%8813%E6%97%A5%E3%81%93%E3%81%AE%E8%8B%A5%E8%80%85%E3%81%AE%E8%AA%95%E7%94%9F%E6%97%A5%E3%81%A7%E3%81%99

TG: dirk my bro   
TG: explain something to me   
TT: I will endeavour to elucidate as pellucidly as possible   
TG: workin on a rap huh   
TT: Yes. Its merits are so far dubious.   
TG: nah its sick   
TG: anyways so   
TG: you and bro both like those animes with girls in tiny miniskirts being lesbians but in a plausibly deniable way right   
TT: That is a simplistic but accurate summary of one of my favourite genres, yes.   
TT: Your guardian and I have discussed it briefly.   
TG: great then you can tell me   
TG: like   
TG: whats the appeal   
TG: i mean i know what the appeal is for me and john   
TG: tiny miniskirts lesbians etc   
TG: but im guessing its not quite the same for you   
TG: and bro i guess not that weve ever actually had that conversation in so many words   
TT: Innocence, purity, the depiction of barely-veiled homoeroticism, though I may not be enjoying that last in exactly the same way as you do.   
TT: Also the tiny miniskirts do bring a certain frisson with them, even when worn by cute schoolgirls instead of cute schoolboys.   
TG: woah ok   
TG: so   
TG: your fave is nico right   
TG: from the idol one   
TT: That's right.   
TT: I appreciate her control freak nature and total lack of breasts.   
TG: cool   
TG: so if i said i had the uniform and a black wig   
TG: and i wanted some help putting them on before i go and stand awkwardly beside bro at anime matsuri while he shills his creepy puppets   
TT: Give the time and place, and I will be there.   
TT: On one condition:   
TT: I also get to help you take them off afterwards.   
TG: deal   
TG: <3


	16. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/166792791227/stridercest-stop-shipping-fictionalsimulated

Before the game, when I was a kid, I couldn't imagine Bro at my age. It never even occurred to me to think about it: he'd so obviously sprung into being, fully formed and adult, from the head of the goddess Irony that trying to imagine him as anything else seemed disrespectful.

It wasn't until I saw Dirk that it really hit home for me that Bro had once been a teenager, like me. I guess sixteen is kind of late to finally realise that the person who brought you up is a real person, but in my defence, Bro always tried to make out like he wasn't.

When we made it to New Earth and picked up our guardians again - even Bec, and don't ask me how that worked - I made Bro tell me the stuff he'd left out when I was growing up. There was a lot of stuff, and he didn't want to tell me most of it, but I was willing to use any means at my disposal to weasel it out of him, up to and including emotional blackmail. Before the game, it would never have worked: but Bro no longer had Lil Cal dripping poison into his head and I wasn't a kid any more.

Unlike Dirk, who'd crashed into the ocean on a meteor and raised his own damn self - or so he claimed - Bro had landed in entirely dry Houston, and been taken into care. Two group homes and three foster families later, he aged out of the system and started doing officially what he'd been doing unofficially and illegally for years.

"So are any of them still around? Your foster families?" We were lying on the couch, with Bro holding onto me like a teddy bear. It was a tight squeeze for two grown men, even on our deep futon, but I liked it enough to wriggle into Bro's embrace when I saw the opportunity. My arm was around his waist, and I played with the tiny strip of pale, freckled skin exposed where his t-shirt rode up in the back.

Bro shrugged carefully, so as not to dislodge me.

"I guess." His tone suggested that he wasn't keen to go looking.

"Were they mean?" I was dying of curiosity about Bro growing up in 80s Houston. I really hoped there were photos somewhere.

"Not really. We just didn't get on." I could feel Bro's toes clench tight where our feet were pressed together, so I dropped it. There were any number of reasons why they might not have been a good fit, and to be honest, most of them centered on Bro. I could try again later.

"Sorry, kiddo," he added after a minute. "No honorary grandparents hiding here. They'd probably have disowned me anyway." Was that an oblique reference to the gay-but-I-don't-use-that-term thing? If it was, the sad thing was that it was probably true. But no more! We made a new Texas that didn't do that shit any more. It was one of the nicer things about Earth 2.

"Hey, if I want a grandparent, there's always Nannasprite." I wriggled a little closer on the couch. "But who gives a shit? We've got family already." I said that a little bit more fiercely that I meant to, but I meant what I said. "Wanna call your daughter up and have her perform bullshit psychoanalysis on you while she salivates over every sordid secret of your childhood?" That was only half-sarcastic. Bro really did find shooting the Freudian shit with Rose prime entertainment.

"Mm, in a few hours. She won't have had breakfast yet, and you know she turns into Bad Cop if you catch her on an empty stomach." Oh, I knew that alright. I'd learnt the hard way back on the Meteor.

"A few hours, huh?" I gave him my best, sexiest smirk. "And until-"

I didn't get a chance to finish my line: Bro's big hand cupped the back of my head and drew me closer, and he covered my lips with his. He kissed me slowly, lazily. I put my hand in his hair and opened my mouth to invite his tongue it, but all he did was bite gently at my lip.

"You're the only family I need," he said into my mouth, low and rumbly - and then we didn't need to speak for a while.


	17. Bro/Dave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> http://cerberusia.tumblr.com/post/168657750312/anti-cupcest-hey-can-you-fucking-stop-bro
> 
> (Just a tiny splodge of fluff for the holiday season.)

Bro didn’t dignify that with an answer: he just kept right on tickling me.

“Bro, get off!” I snapped - well, shrieked - as I thrashed around the tiny futon, perilously close to falling off. Bro’s long fingers traced light patterns on my waist, worming their way under my shirt, as I kicked and swore and, to my eternal shame, giggled. It wasn’t a laugh. It wasn’t even a chuckle. I just giggled like a drunk watching Spongebob.

“I’ll bite!” I threatened, though the hysterical laughter mangled my words. “Get offffff! Bro!” I clutched at his forearms, which felt like steel in my hands.

Suddenly, mercifully, he did. Or at least, the tickling stopped: he didn’t get his hands off me, just rested them there on my bare skin. I twitched like I had palsy, little ticklish sparks still racing through me, my body convinced that any moment now he was going to start tormenting me again. Bro loomed over me, watching me come down from my tickling-high with his hand still up my shirt, threatening.

Or maybe not threatening. I was very aware of his big, warm hands where they’d crept up to my ribs. My heartbeat sped up just a little.

“Bro, was this whole thing a ploy to feel me up?” I squeezed his wrists for good measure.

“Dave, I’m shocked that you’d accuse me of such a thing.” Utterly deadpan.

“So, what you’re basically telling me is: yeah, it was totally a ploy to feel me up.” Bro looked slightly mutinous at having his super-sneaky plan unveiled, so I just slowly, deliberately let go of his arms - and stretched. Bro’s hands slid a fraction higher up towards my chest.

“Only the fun kind of biting now,” I promised, and saw the corner of Bro’s mouth turn up in the tiniest smile before he leaned in to kiss me.


End file.
